Stumble If You May

Hulworth Meredith was the sort of holier-than-thou fella that had lost his way more times than I could count. He’s long been dead, but I hope that his story and ideas live in so many hearts and minds.. I’m nothing but a simple fellow, a scribe who records the histories and deeds and memories and derring-do of other, more qualified men and women, cats and dogs, so take note of the man behind the words rather than the wordsmith himself. I aim to entertain, enlighten, and inspire, but refrain from staring at the ghostly man behind the curtain. Instead, look to the ghosts that had done beautiful, dangerous, and always eye-opening things that I can’t help but talk about without dropping my jaw down the furthest ravine.

We start our tale with the aforementioned higher-than-the-tallest-grass kind of forlorn soul turned forlorn ne'er do well in the city of Great Beginnings. It’s a town in the middle of a forest, a small village with only a few tradeworthy items and ideas that often gets overshadowed by the hustle and bustle of Winding Road to the west, and the rustle and tussle of Lost Your Way to the east. Hulworth was born to unknown parents who had died in a nondescript war between two unimportant gangs in an uninteresting year of the unimpressive past. What is of note is how quick little Hulworth took to the streets. He moved west from Great Beginnings to the crooked and narrow streets and black buildings of Winding Road that lapped at the sun’s light like starving dogs. He became a ragamuffin kid with a heart full of cold that stole not from the vendors and places of business from the hard-working citizens of Black Road, oh no. He took to stealing from the other ragamuffins that stole from the vendors, without so much as a guilt string plucked. He stole more than what would get him by, like steaks, cheeses, juices, muffins and the like. He had purloined purses, burglarized belts, buckles, buckle shoes, and all other things in between. He made quite a name for himself as the Jacker of All Trades. And it was in these troubled times that Hulworth the bandit boy turned into Hulworth the bandit king, who was also now a man. The hardened streets peppered his black beard with gray when he was no more than 25.

Winding Road's forces of good that aimed to remove him from their burgeoning society were too little too late, as the young Hulworth had no intention of sticking around in the cracked sidewalks and blistering summer suns of Inkwell. He turned to an even bigger and somehow crookeder city known as Lost Your Way. Therein lies at the center of this artistic bastion a fountain of marble, crystal clear water, and stone-cut streets that gave the grand plaza such a great glow to Hulworth. It was here that he would undertake his greatest challenge yet. There was a museum that housed old-as-sin paintings, ready-to-crumble pots, and older still sculptures that Hulworth had his eyes on. He didn’t think he was the best of the best, he knew he was the best of the best. So his only problem was finding capable gents and ladies who could be as dastardly as him. This proved difficult to the point of impossible, so he gathered what ragtag group of ready ruffians he could. It was not enough, and the director’s cast was caught after just one hour. But the director himself left the stage. He fled the museum, fled the guards and good samaritans and onlooking stares, and straight to the front gates he waltzed out. He was dressed as a man who had not committed one crime. He hadn’t changed his clothes in the slightest, but he had the demeanor of such a man, of such an innocent man, that they let him out of the winding streets of Lost Your Way without so much as a second glance. He turned further east, to Toughest Climb, the highest peak in the longest mountain range. When urban hovels turned into the rural countryside the further east he went, he pivoted south to the oldest city of them all: The city of Turning Point.

It was at this point that the now 30-something Hulworth Meredith, the Jacker of All Trades, Master of Run was getting tired of running. He was fond of wearing blue jackets and jeans at this time, and in the red city of Turning Point, of red brick buildings, dirt road slums, and universities of time immemorial, he stuck out like a sore thumb. But it was in the city of Turning Point that he found himself in another transformative alley. He stared at a mural on the wall that had all the colors of the rainbow plus 10 other colors besides. And they came together to form the outline of the city. Hulworth poked at the red section of the mural that encompassed the very alleyway he was in. But he was hoping for something as he kept poking at it, even if he didn’t know it.

“You’re being followed.” a voice said.  Now what did the Master of Run have to say you might wonder?

“.” Nothing of course. He thought he was hearing things, the wrong things, or not a thing at all. But the voice kept at it. 

“You’re being followed.”

“Huh?” He looked to his right, and to his left. He turned around to see the behind, and he turned back to the mural. He wondered to himself ‘was it the mural?’ There was no one else, and no noise besides the same trappings that Turning Point and any other city might have. It was total, urban silence. 

“Hello?” He poked at the mural again.

“You’re being followed, Hulworth.” He gasped, stepped back and nearly fell over for his efforts. Some time passed as Hulworth looked around again, and sure enough, he heard the voice once more. “You’re being followed. Better get moving so they don’t catch up.” He looked disturbed past the point of despair, but instead of moving, he pressed his ear against the mural. “It’s not the mural! Move!” He jumped at the voice’s curt tone and so he did as he was told. It echoed in his head, as spacious as an ocean, as fast and cutting as a raging river. He thought it best he skipped town, for the wonderful world of Turning Point no longer held a candle to Mr. Meredith’s fear.

So our man went yet further south, to a small town known as End of the Road. It was renowned in towns over for its hot springs and so he decided to take a dip. He still had a nice amount of fortune to his name that lined his cerulean pockets, so getting anywhere and everywhere was still easy for the man. It was in the bath however that he heard the voice again.

“You’re being followed.” He no longer thought the voice was a mere illusion. It was real, and it had with it his name to prove it. Hulworth got out of the baths immediately and stormed out of the building.. “You’re being followed. You better run!” He had no intention of standing still. He had to get moving, onto the next town.

Even further south revealed the vastness and quite frankly uncrossable nature of a sea without a boat, and he did not want to be stuck on a ship where his follower could follow him to a dead end. He steered himself west, and eventually, he stumbled upon Stumbles. It was a tinier town than End of the Road but was home to a nice lake and a nice craggy cliff with a quite nice view. He was beat like batter, and he hoped that the small inn he found could rest his weary bones. However, much to his dismay and the dismay of a poor young lad who was sweeping dust nearby, a voice emanated through Hulworth’s head.

“You’re being followed. You don’t have time to rest!” Hulworth yelled at the top of his lungs, and yet louder still.  The sweep ran to his room, and asked what was wrong, but Hulworth would not answer. He just bolted out of the room, covered in sweat and paranoia. It was then that Hulworth thought his strategy was off. The smallest town couldn’t hide him away from the biggest tormentor. He had to go to a big city with big plans, with big, strong men that he could ally himself with. So he headed furthest north, past Black Road, past Last Your Way, and to the largest city of them all: Hero’s Fall. Here small people got considerably larger and smarter. They became the heroes in their great, unsung stories, and Hulworth was aiming to find one of these heroes. But as luck wouldn’t have it, he came across a bounty hunter instead who wore nothing but black clothing, with black gloves and a black hat and silver, shiny stirrups on his black boots. Hulworth thought him to be the perfect person wrangler to wrestle him free of his troubles. 

“What’s your name?” Hulworth said. People simply called him the Shooter of Dreams, and he said so with sulfur teeth surrounded by a wide smile. And so it was like that for a while. In those times, Hulworth was getting a sort of strong reputation as a cutthroat cowboy himself. Together The Shooter of Dreams and the Gunslinger of Hope ravaged Hero’s Fall and the surrounding county from hill to shining hill and Hulworth even forgot that he was being followed. But he was, and sooner rather than the much preferred later, they would catch up.

 For a full year, Hulworth didn’t hear that voice. But it came back, told him he was being followed, that sort of thing. But Hulworth was tired of running, so he didn’t want to hear it. “You’re being followed.” The voice said. Hulworth was sitting all comfortable like in his bandit’s den. He tossed a half-eaten apple at his soiler-in-arms.

“You say something?” But The Shooter of Dreams was in a dream himself, so he was going to be of no help. Hulworth paid the voice no mind and closed his eyes.

“You’re being followed.” He shrugged it off like water right off his now well-rested back. “You’re being followed, and you should exit the company of the Shooter of Dreams.”

“What?”

“You’re being followed. Best get going. Alone.” This was too specific for the Gunslinger of Hope to ignore, and after a few noggin wracks and brain searches, he remembered why he was in Hero’s Fall in the first place. He almost screamed, but the voice told him to keep quiet, pack his things and shove off. So he did, with shaky hands and silent breaths.

It was close to this time that Hulworth was running out of money. He no longer stored it like his frugal old self once did. He and the Shooter of Dreams blew through all their stolen gains faster than a firework enters the stratosphere. He slipped through the gates of Hero’s Fall and headed south again. He was now close to forty and close to giving up. After a few more inn stays, a few more times of the voice saying he was being followed, he could no longer take it. After the last bit of his money was spent on a nice suit, a nice hat, and some nice pants (there was simply not enough for nice shoes), Hulworth Meredith, The Master of Run, could run no longer. He went to the middle of the desert in the middle of nowhere, and he turned around. He was eager to look the man in the face, the one who had been following him all these years.

“You coming out or what?” He yelled. “I ain't got no money left, no dreams, no will to live. So I want you to kill me dead in this dead place. Free me of my misery, cuz you know what? It’s been a long time coming!”

“You’re being followed.” The voice said.

“I know! So stop following and start shooting!”

“You’re being followed by someone who wants to help you.” Hulworth pulled out his ole six-shooter that had gotten him out of more than one scrape. “The hell? No, you don’t! You want to torture me with the psycholgies, and all the evil whatnots and tear me down until I am nothing! Well, you got me! Get it done with! And I’d be obliged if I didn’t mention that one year ya gave me in Hero’s Fall. It was pure paradise.” The wind blew sand into his face, and nothingness filled his rickety, wooden ramshackle heart.

“You’re right. I had to rip you down to your foundation so you could build something new. Don’t you feel the rot? Don’t you understand that feeling all too well?”

“Just shoot me dead and stop talking fancy words!”

“You have a great mission to complete. You are far from worthless, just broken. You can still fix yourself.”

“I said kill me goddamit!” Hulworth shot 6 times until his faithful companion was as empty as he was. “That was my every last bullet! It’s your responsibility now! Do it, and do it quick!”

“I can’t. And If I could, I wouldn’t.” Hulworth looked at the quiet desert in horror.

“Just who the hell are you? Why can’t you let me die!” It was the first time since Hulworth was a small child in the city of Inkwell that he had cried. That was the beginning of his regretful, twisted journey, and today, in this grand moment, was the end of that journey, and the start of a new one. It was time the man realized it. 

“I have no body, Hulworth. I’m neither alive nor dead because I was never alive. I have been the wind carrying you from place to place for decades now.  You can call me Destiny, or Fate, but more importantly, I’m the angel in your closet that wants to be let out. I know you have good in you, but it was robbed from you, wasn’t it? Like so many other things.

“No! I don’t want no lesson, just. Just…” Hulworth dropped the gun to the windswept desert floor and knelt down. “I just don’t want to run no more.”

“And you won’t, but only if you put the work in. You can change the world with your potential. Did you know that?” Hulworth stayed silent.  “You can and you will if you have the will. You understand that, right?”

“Do I?” He paused for a moment, and he looked toward the ground. “I don’t know if I do.’

“You do Hulworth. You can create so many great things. You can create better things.. You may not have the mechanical skill, but you will get it. You might not have the brains and intuition, but you will foster it. All you need is the idea, and you will find it.

“What?”

“Discover it for yourself, but time shows that you must. Go from town to town, city to city. In one of them, you may find your answer.

“But why? Why me?”

“Why not you? Wouldn’t you agree it’s better than giving up?” Hulworth scratched his chin, picked up his six-shooter and felt the heavy hunk of metal in his hands for the first time. It was no longer what he wanted, I could tell. He tossed it to the side and got up. A small scorpion that sat beside his feet looked poised to strike, but I blew it away. It was not his time.

“And you call this desert a dead place, but don’t you know that a desert still aches with life? From the bugs to the beasts, it still carves out a place for living things. And one day, it might change, become a grassland. Oases are proof of this. Show the world that you are an oasis, Hulworth. Show the world the proof that things can change.” Hulworth nodded, but he was still confused.

“That’s all great, but who are you? Why not choose someone great, someone better?”

“I told you who I was-”

“No, you didn’t.” And I wasn't about to.

“And the answer to your other question is this. For a long time, I gave great people great ideas, and it was too easy. Those individuals didn’t need me. These men and women didn’t need inspiration. But people like you do. It’s not too late. I want to give terrible people great ideas. I want them to change the world, with just a little help. You aren’t rotten to the core, you’re only rotting to the core. You can stop it. You know how, or you will.”

“Just go from place to place. Doing what? No, don’t answer that. But it seems like I’d be running again.”

“You won’t be. You’ll be walking, with no destination or goal in mind. But you will find it.”

“So you say. Goodbye, I think.”

“Yes. Goodbye.” I blew away from Hulworth Meredith, away from the world, and out into places unseen. It was time I got to work. His tale had to be told, and there are so many other stories yet unsaid. And I will find them.

I will find them all. And I will leave you with this.

Stumble if you may, fall if you must, but get back up I trust.

Get back up you must.